


You Don't Know Him Like I Don't

by TheYellowTurtle



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Family, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYellowTurtle/pseuds/TheYellowTurtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chanyeol's younger sister comes to terms with her brother's sudden diagnosis as "crazy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know Him Like I Don't

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on AFF. This is also my first time posting on AO3.
> 
> I know Chanyeol has an older sister (Yura), but a younger sister was easier for me to work with...
> 
> This website is intimidating. 0.0

"All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

Those are the words Leo Tolstoy used to begin  _Anna Karenina_. 

He should have said, "all happy people are alike; each unhappy person is unhappy in their own way."

That would have made much more sense. 

 

***

 

He's late.

I unlock my cell. He's an hour late. 

I stare off into the distance. Water droplets are still running off the leaves. I absentmindedly tap my umbrella against my shoe. The sun is peeking through the clouds like a long lost friend. It had been raining nonstop for about two days; it was supposed to continue on until tomorrow. I guess the weather had other plans. I check my cell again. Still no messages.

I sigh and put the device in my jacket's pocket. This is nothing new. Chanyeol's been especially busy with his debut coming up. The hours spent training are longer, the distance between us further, the freedom he has even less. His excitement is at an all-time high.

He probably got held up with practice again; it would be nothing new. His talents never have laid in coordination.

I breathe in the aroma coming from the coffee shop and salivate at the sensation. He'll be here soon. He always shows up eventually. 

I find myself staring at the puddle filling the pothole in the road. The gasoline makes the dirty water into a display of colors when the sun hits it just right.

My cell begins to vibrate. It's omma.

I slide my finger across the screen and bring the device to my ear. 

"Chanmi, I need you to go home and start dinner," she demands before I can even say hello.

"I understand," I reply monotonously, "But I'm waiting for Oppa right now at the cafe." I crane my head in an attempt to see around the street corner.  It's as bare as it was a minute ago.

I hear her breathe in deeply; my body freezes at the sound. 

"Chanmi, Chanyeol won't be showing up." My breathing stills. "Chanyeol is in the hospital...he had an accident..."

I force a breath out from lips, "Wha-what do you mean? What type of accident? Is he ok?" My heartbeat becomes more and more frantic.

I hear a choked sob on the other end. 

"Chanmi, He's crazy."

My eyes widen.

The sun makes a full appearance from behind the clouds.

 

***

 

When I was little I would follow Chanyeol everywhere and anywhere. 

It didn't matter if it was into the mud, following the neighborhood boys or up trees much too high for me. If Chanyeol was going somewhere or doing something, I would soon follow. That was my law of the universe.

Chanyeol was friendly to everyone and constantly smiling. I wanted to be friendly and smile. 

Chanyeol wanted to learn how to play the guitar. I wanted to learn how to play the guitar.

Where Chanyeol was, what Chanyeol did, that was my existence back then. I was an awestruck little sister. It was impossible for someone to be better than him. Our parents loved him, adults loved him, the local kids loved him; everyone loved him. He was perfection. I wanted to be perfection.

 

***

 

Rule One: Tell No One. Not Even Your Closest Friends.

That's what omma told me. No one is allowed to know. I would be willing to bet that even she didn't want to know. It would be no surprise if she wanted to turn back time and save her perfect son from slipping. I can imagine the thoughts running through her head. What went wrong? Was she a bad mother? What could she have done to save her only son from this elusive monster? Most of all though, what can she do to make sure no one finds out?

I overheard my parents talking at night. It happened in public; the SM building. He snapped. Chanyeol snapped. The perfect son who could get into SM Entertainment suddenly snapped months before his debut. He attacked one of his fellow members. The police were called in. He was unstable, insane. They locked him up. The doctor declared Manic-Depressive Disorder, Type 1. My parents declared him dead. May we all carry on the memory of the boy we knew and the boy we loved.

There's no need for an embarrassment in the family. There's no need for someone too weak to deal with reality. 

That's what I heard. The unsaid message was loud and clear. The brother you know is dead please proceed with caution; we don't want the crazy to spread. We don't need another embarrassment. 

Please hold this family together. That's what I heard.

They didn't care what I said, what I wanted. I wanted to see Chanyeol with my own eyes. Instead I had to settle for lonely nights where I curled up in a ball under my duvets, the soundtrack of my parents' screaming my only company.

 

***

 

Manic-Depressive Disorder, also known as bipolar disorder. A mental illness where the individual has two extreme opposite states. The state of mania and depression. 

It's easy to define a word, but difficult to understand it. All I know for sure is that Chanyeol is forever entwined with this word once the doctors put it on his record.

 

***

 

Rule Two: Don't Speak to the Prisoner.

He's coming home today. After a week in the mental institution and a prescription later, the doctors declared he was safe enough to be set free into the real world. I can't sit still. I finally get to see him after so long.

I look up at the sound of door unlocking, my fingers stop tapping incessantly on the table. Appa solemnly walks in and wanders off to his room with no acknowledgement of my presence. Omma follows him in a similar fashion. Chanyeol is left standing at the door with his knapsack slung over his shoulders.

He's dressed in a neon yellow sweatshirt and some dark wash skinny jeans. His appearance is the same. The only thing that's changed is his presence. Normally he would have already bounced on over and brought me into a bear hug, while I tried to pull away from his too tight grasp with a laugh. 

He stands there staring soullessly at the floor, fiddling with the frays on his sleeves. 

"Oppa," I call out.

He looks up and his eyes fill with something I'm not used to seeing: shame. He runs off to his room without a word.

My throat tightens. Not even a greeting could be spared. 

Over the next week I try talking to him again and again, but all of my attempts are thwarted. He doesn't talk. He just runs away. 

 

***

 

My schedule:

Wake up.

Eat breakfast.

Avoid Chanyeol.

Go to school.

Come home from school.

Study.

Eat dinner.

Study.

Avoid Chanyeol.

Go to bed.

Stay up staring at the ceiling until 1 AM wishing Chanyeol would return to normal and wishing I knew how to talk to him again.

Fall asleep.

Wake up.

Avoid Chanyeol.

Rinse and repeat.

 

***

 

I stand still as a statue by his door as I eavesdrop on the conversation taking place on the other side. I was on my way to the living room when I heard Chanyeol's raised voice through the door. He never yells.

He's talking on the phone with Baekhyun-oppa. They were going to debut together. Were. Debut is no longer an option for Chanyeol.

"I'm sorry. I don-" Chanyeol says before the other line cuts him off. Right now, I'm extremely thankful that Chanyeol talks to people on speaker phone.

"No, Chanyeol. I don't feel safe around you. You need to deal with your fucking shit and I need to focus on my debut. I don't have time to lose my shit like you and I don't have time to help pick up the pieces. I'm sorry, but you're in a place I don't want to be associated with. Stop calling the other members and stop calling me. We don't want to be associated with you." 

The phone call abruptly ends. I don't move and I don't breathe. I no longer hear anything on the other side. Three minutes later I hear the sound of quilts ruffling. Chanyeol only cries under his blankets, hiding away from the world.

I walk away from his room. I shouldn't have eavesdropped. Our parents are bad enough, now he doesn't even have friends on his side. I shouldn't have eavesdropped. It just  made the fact that Chanyeol's dream of debuting is truly over. He's no longer wanted. I rub my eyes.

It's unfair.

 

***

 

"Chanmi?" Eunmi calls as I am carefully giving my toes some French tips. 

"Hmm?" I can feel her gaze on me, but I don't raise my head. It's easy to pretend that I don't hear her serious tone. 

"Is something wrong?" My hand pauses. "You've been more tense lately. Is everything alright?"

I close the polish and carefully spread my legs out in front of me. "Everything is fine, Mi. I'm just a bit stressed with the upcoming exams. It's crazy that we'll be graduating soon."

"You're lying. Don't you fucking lie to me, Chanmi." My body tenses as I avoid her eyes. She's been my best friend for years. She knows me better than myself.

"Language, Mi." 

"Don't give me that fucking bullshit that's not even your opinion, Chanmi," she crosses her arms, "Now what's wrong?"

I fiddle with my hair ends, "I can't tell you. I promised."

She deeply sighs and rests her head on her hands, "Just know that you can tell me whatever is bothering you, Chanmi. I'm your best friend and I'll be here for you no matter what. Don't keep all of your problems to yourself. One day you're going to fucking snap and it's not going to be pretty." 

I just nod my head. I want to tell her, but it doesn't feel right. She opens her arms, "Now give me a hug, you bitch."

I chuckle at her antics and let myself be comforted by her familiar warmth. It's nice, but not the warmth I desire.

 

***

 

Chanyeol always was a protective older brother. He wanted to protect me from the dark, monsters under the bed and the dangers of the world of adults.

On a rainy day when I was around twelve years old he made me promise not to use foul language. He told me that he didn't want people to think I had a potty-mouth and think  less of me. I eagerly nodded along with a grin on my face. I pinky-promised and crossed my heart and swore to swallow a thousand needles if I broke my promise. 

I have yet to break my promise. 

 

***

 

Chanyeol is no longer Chanyeol. The Chanyeol I know is ball of clumsy joy. He is not the person who will sleep all day. He is not the person who will stare blindly at the ceiling in his room. He is not the person who smells like cigarette smoke. He is not the person who will refuse to touch his guitar for more than a day, let alone weeks. He is not the person who refuses to smile. The Chanyeol I know is not the person that is sleeping in the room across the hall. He's not even close to that person.

I read that the meds he is on could cause someone to be lethargic. However, I also read that these could be the symptoms of a depressive episode. I don't know which one I want to be the case more. The Chanyeol that is safe on his meds or the Chanyeol that is the new normal without a clutch. I detest both options.

He still avoids my attempts to bond with him. He refuses to play the guitar together, to watch some action flicks or to go out for coffee. He refuses to do anything. He's slowly becoming the unknown creature, the monster living across the hall. 

So when I'm eating breakfast one morning and Chanyeol comes in with a grin on his face it would be accurate to say I'm surprised. He walks up behind my chair and envelops me in a back-hug of sorts as he pinches my cheek. 

"Chanmi!" He bellows in my ear. He smells of cigarette smoke and his behavior is completely out of the blue, but I don't care. This is a Chanyeol I'm familiar with. This is my brother.

My lips pull into a bright smile when he sits down next to me and we eat breakfast together like back in the days. He speaks faster than usual, but that's ok. It's Chanyeol. 

 

***

 

Despite Chanyeol's recent improvement in mood, our parents still avoid him like the plague. Even though he's beginning to get a handle over himself, there is still a thick tension in the air. Chanyeol could bring about world peace, but he would always be the son that brought shame to the family and had to be hidden away from the world. 

The nuclear family structure was no longer working. The Park family was falling apart and frankly my omma was having the hardest time dealing with it. She used to always brag to the local ahjummas how Chanyeol was part of SM and how handsome and  how smart and  how talented and how perfect he was. With Chanyeol's diagnosis she could no longer do that; the perfect child no longer existed.

I did fine in school. I was friendly and popular with my classmates. However, that was not perfect. I was not the best and most importantly, not the prettiest. I did not inherit my brother's good looks.The only characteristics that I shared with my brother were my long legs and big ears. Especially the big ears. 

She would stare at me sometimes as if she was trying to figure something out. She would come into my room when I was studying with some peeled fruits. She would ask me how my studies were going, but never how I was doing. It was only when she asked me my class rank that I figured out what she was searching for. Her eyes faltered when I told her the number even though it was decent by all means. She let out a small oh and stated, "It's lower than Chanyeol's was."

And that was it. Somewhere along the road I had become the last hope; the child that wouldn't ruin everything. Somewhere I had become the one that had to be perfect. 

I hate it.

 

***

 

I walk back to my room after getting a glass of water. The lights are off, the only source of illumination coming from the crack under Chanyeol's door. Curious, I knock on the door and push open the door. Chanyeol remains seated at his desk, writing ferociously into a notebook with his horrid penmanship. His head bobs up and down to a beat only heard by him as he goes about his task.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He jumps in his seat and slams the notebook shut. He glares at me. "Nothing. Go away."

I step back in shock with widened eyes. I quickly exit the room and escape to the comfort of my bed. 

He's never acted like that with me before. So angry and guarded.

When I wake up the next morning, I find him in the same position. Writing in his notebook, but this time with dark bags decorating his eyes.

When I peek at the notebook two days later, one word stands out: Happy. The word happy is everywhere. Nothing else is legible. 

 

***

 

A week later I find him standing in front of the mirror that we keep in the hall. He sees me in the reflection and grins. He makes eye contact with me before returning to the admiration of his face.

"Chanmi. Isn't oppa really good looking?"

I furrow my brow. "Yes, oppa you're attractive."

He smiles brightly at my response, "That's what I was thinking! I'm really attractive." There is no insecurity in the statement. "I'm so handsome that I even make these fucking big ears look good."

It hurts. It really hurts, but I find myself nodding before I walk away. 

 

***

 

It's October when I find out that Chanyeol has been flushing his pills down the sink. I watch him from afar as he calmly takes out his daily dose and dumps it into the flowing water. His process is methodical and precise; there is no way that this is a spur of the moment thing. He's been doing this awhile, but the question is how long?

Our parents are at work -they've been at work a lot lately-  leaving me alone with Chanyeol. I take a deep breath before I call out, "What are you doing?"

He freezes before he nonchalantly turns around with a smirk on his lips. "What it looks like. I'm getting rid of these pieces of shit." He rattles the capsule before chucking it off to the side. 

"Why the heck are you doing that? You need to take those!" He maintains his cocky stance.

He pauses for show, "Because I don't want to. They fuck up my whole process. I'm a genius, Chanmi, and those drugs only bring me down. My thought process is so fucking clear and that shit just fucks it all up." 

I can hear the pounding of my heart in my ear. "But-but the doctor said you need to take them because you're, you'r-"

"Because I'm what, Chanmi? Bipolar? Crazy? They don't know what the fuck they're talking about! I know what I'm doing. I have never been fucking better. I'm not going to let some doctor with a stick stuck up his ass tell me that I'm crazy! I have never felt fucking better in my entire life. SM is a bunch of fools for letting me go. Jongin is a fucking idiot for not being able to handle the truth. I'm a better dancer than him. Hell! I'm a better dancer than all of them! And I'm better looking!"

His speech is rapid, his skin is turning a bright red and I begin to shiver at the sight. Chanyeol never gets angry. Never. I try to calm my breathing as I watch him walk back and forth ranting about his superiority in great detail. 

Chanyeol never swears. He never gets angry. He is never that sure of himself. He never acts like this. 

I don't know what to do.

I tune back into his ranting as he scoffs. "Psssh. It's a good thing I left SM. They would have never allowed me to fulfill my dream. I would never have been able to make everyone happy if I was stuck there with those fools,"  he pauses a bit to recollect his thoughts, "Y'know Chanmi, the world is such bullshit. No one is happy because they don't let themselves be happy. I could let them be happy if they would let me help them, Chanmi. I can make everyone happy, Chanmi. That's my duty."

I exhale deeply as I stare at my brother. This is not Chanyeol. This is som- some asshole. Some arrogant asshole and frankly I'm sick of it. I'm sick of our parents not caring. I'm sick of them being embarrassed. I'm sick of losing my brother. I'm sick of not knowing how to be a good sister anymore. I'm sick of pretending that we're a perfect family. I'm sick of us trying to be perfect. I'm sick of us pretending that we're happy, that we're ok, when we're not. We're not ok. We were broken long before Chanyeol and we were too ignorant to realize it. 

I clench my fists and scream, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Chanyeol freezes and just stares at me as I begin to hyperventilate. "How can you make everyone happy when you can't even figure out how to make our own family happy? How can make everyone happy when you can't even make me happy? How can you, Chanyeol? How can you?!"

I rub at my eyes to stop the tears that are forming there. "You were my role model, oppa. I wanted to be you. I wanted to be popular and smart and good-looking and talented. I wanted to be you so bad. Bu- but then you had that manic episode and everything changed. You weren't the brother I looked up to after that. You just moped around and then when I thought things were getting better it's just because you were entering another manic phase. Honestly, I kind of hated you. I hated you for not being perfect," I begin to hiccup, "Because if you could be perfect, then maybe I could, too. Even if I couldn't, you would be there, a living example of what's possible."

I pause and see Chanyeol watching me with hurt eyes. "But you know what? I didn't realize it before, but you never were perfect. I just wanted you to be and our parents wanted you to be. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I expected that from you. I'm sorry that I was incapable of accepting the damaged you, that there was more to you than I knew." I wipe away the tears now rushing down my face. "I'm sorry for being such a bad sister. I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you. I'm sorry."

My vision as too blurry from tears to see his reaction; I continued to wipe at my eyes and poorly attempt to stop hyperventilating. I briefly tense up when I feel his strong arms around me. 

His breathing is hitched when he whispers, "I know I can make everyone happy."

I pull back from the hug, "You're being delusional and grandiose. You're having a manic episode because you're off the meds."

He tenses and then stares into my soul, "People keep saying that I'm delusional and need to start thinking rationally, but how am I supposed to go through life knowing that when I'm happiest is labeled as insane by others? That my form of euphoria is a lie," his voice is barely audible, "That my happiness is a lie."

I begin to sob again at his words. "I don't know, oppa. I really don't know."

We stand there hugging for awhile with me patting his back. I've missed his hugs. We eventually break apart and just stare at each other. It's like seeing him for the first time. Park Chanyeol, diagnosed with Bipolar Type One, and still my older brother. He's not perfect, never has and never will be.

"Do you want to play guitar together?" Chanyeol meekly asks.

I nod my head and smile.

Two hours later the only sound that can be heard is the strumming of the guitar as I try to teach him how to play a Santana song. My love for the instrument may have started because of Chanyeol, but now the guitar is something solely for my enjoyment. 

I feel relieved for the first time in awhile. Maybe things can work out.

 

***

 

"Eunmi! I need your help!" I declare as I march into her room- I've know her so long her parents just let me in the house.  She is sprawled out on her bed flipping through a National Geographic. 

"Eunmi!" She rolls over and rests on her arm at an angle. "Yes, Chanmi?"

I throw the small box of bright red hair dye at her. "I need you to help me dye my hair."

Her mouth drops as she checks over box to see if it really is hair dye. "Holy shit. You weren't joking," she raises a brow, "what brought about this?"

I take a deep breath. "Recently I realized that I should stop trying to be perfect because it's making me miserable and it's impossible. I should do what makes me happy and not care about other people's opinions. F-f-fuck them."

She begins to clap her hands together in excitement. "Welcome to the dark side, Chanmi!" She pulls me into a hug. I back away and give her a serious look. 

"I need to tell you what I wouldn't tell you that one time," she nods for me to continue, "Chanyeol-oppa is bipolar."

Eunmi tilts her head and pats the spot next to her on the bed. "Tell me more. I don't know shit about being bipolar."

And I do. And Eunmi continues to be my best friend for a reason.

 

***

 

It's raining cats and dogs when an idea comes to me. I dash to Chanyeol's room and throw the door open. He looks up from playing guitar on the bed and gives me a questioning look. I had convinced him recently to start taking his meds again; it's smaller than the prescribed dose, but it's better than nothing. As a result,  our relationship has improved drastically. 

"Oppa! The thing that makes people happy no matter what! I know what it is!" His eyes widen and he puts down his guitar. "It's cake!"

He pauses to think about it, "You're right!" He gives me a bright smile.

Two hours later the kitchen is a mess and Chanyeol is presenting me a cake that looks like Lady Gaga barfed on it or in simple terms; there are much better looking cakes out there in the universe.

"I'm sorry it's ugly," he offers. 

I take a bite and my eyes widen at the sensation in my mouth. He's in the middle of apologizing again when I cut him off, "It's good." I shovel another forkful into my mouth, "Really good."

He smiles again and ruffles my now red hair. 

It's going to be fine. Past Chanyeol, Present Chanyeol, they're all Chanyeol no matter what.

 

***

 

The sun shining through the window above my bed is what stirs me from my slumber. It's a Sunday, so I leisurely stretch my arms above my head before getting out of bed. I slide my feet into my slippers and make my way to the bathroom to wash up. I push open the door and freeze.

My eyes widen at the sight and my heart stops. 

Chanyeol leans against the bath with his slit wrist propped into the tub full of water, which is now a shade of burgundy. The metallic scent permeates the air. The blood that missed the water dribbles down the sides of the bath. There is so much blood.

His face is pale and his body is still. Too still. I run to grab the nearest phone. Please don't let it be too late.

The ambulance soon arrives with the medics. I find myself holding onto his pale hand that is so much larger than mine.

Past Chanyeol, Present Chanyeol, Future Chanyeol, Past Chanyeol, Present Chanyeol, Future Chanyeol. They're all Chanyeol no matter what.

 

 

End.


End file.
